


The Tactical Use of Takis

by Temporarily



Category: South Park
Genre: Crack, Cussing, Dumb Dares, Fluff, Gayness, Humor, Kenny Dies, M/M, Takis, This Is STUPID, actually the stupidest thing I've ever written, the only thing that justifies this existing is if it makes you smile, which is saying a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 15:58:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13978563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temporarily/pseuds/Temporarily
Summary: How South Park would ruin Takis - or vice versa - plus Gregstophe.





	The Tactical Use of Takis

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Takis, South Park, these characters, or the tumblr prompt about eating spicy foods that inspired this. THIS STORY IS NOT INTENDED TO PROMOTE THE CONSUMPTION OF TAKIS, LEARN FROM THE MISTAKES OF KENNY McCORMIC. I am a complete hypocrite with no value for my health whatsoever, but still. Try to eat healthy.

When Fuego’s Takis hit the shelves of the nearest convenience stores, the children of South Park immediately began using these dangerous food items for dubious purposes. Whoever ate an entire bag gained insane respect, especially if they did it without showing their internal suffering. To absolutely no one’s surprise, Craig was the only one who’d been able to accomplish this feat so far. (There were rumors that Damian could too, but he refused to try on account of his disdain for everything belonging to the mortal realm which, of course, included Takis.) After five minutes of hearing Cartman brag about his Takis eating skills (“I’m like, totally gonna finish this whole entire bag guys, and it’s not even gonna burn that much, ‘cause  _I’m_  not a fucking pussy.  _Cough LIKE KAHL Cough._  You’ll see, it’s gonna be sweet.”), Craig had snatched the jumbo-sized bag and calmly consumed every single chip one by one without a single noise of distress. Then, to prove his point, he licked the tacky red powder from his fingers. 

Tweek flipped a lid, terrified that all his taste buds had died off, but the rest of the lunch room was in awe. Thus the Takis craze began. 

Within a week Kenny McCormick had eaten enough Takis to destroy his stomach lining. His painful death provided Sheela Brofloski the emotional kick she needed to make the Mayor ban the spicy snack from South Park. All this did was make the consumption of Takis illegal, which meant the sixth graders gave up pot (while still illegal for minors, its general legality otherwise made it lose appeal) and started an underground Takis ring.

Gregory of Yardale and a few others (Token, Kyle, Wendy, everyone with brains) wanted little to do with Takis. When asked if he would like some he might pointedly read the health label and provide a free twenty-minute lecture about just how detrimental to one’s well-being they were. “You could be eating just about anything else—save perhaps artificially sweetened Soda—and get more nutritional value,” he would explain. 

Not that anyone listened. What was logic to stand in the way of reckless youth and novelty snacks?

Gregory was, however, prideful. Once riled he rarely listened to his usual sensibilities if they were in favor of backing down from a challenge. So, when Stan Marsh angered him enough to agree to eat one small bag of Takis without milk, only a damming glass of water within sight, well… He was rather stuffed, wasn’t he? 

Stan was their acting camera man, to record proof of the deed. Cartman was there because he liked to watch people suffer. Kenny was still dead, and Kyle refused to have anything to do with this. Gregory brought Christophe along for moral support. 

“You are the stupidest fucking cunt-whore of an inbred mule I have  _ever_  had to drag out of his own shithole,” The Mole spat. Ah, verbal abuse. The best kind of support.

“I can’t say I’m happy about this situation either,” Gregory admitted. “But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that arsehole— _Marsh_ , get the best of me!” 

“You should know that I am bringing this knife, for when you start begging me to cut out your tongue as an act of mercy. Because you are a wimp, and you won’t be able to handle this disgusting junk food.” True to his word Christophe procured a slender, frightfully sharp switchblade. Gregory eyed it with suspicion. 

“Did you sanitize it? I don’t want to develop gangrene on my tongue-stump.”

“Bien sûr!!! What kind of heathen do you think I am!?!”

“That’s all I can ask for, my good fellow. Thank you for being so thoughtful!”

“You are fucking welcome, bête.” The two foreigners shared an unconventionally combative relationship. Gregory found every exchange delightful. 

They reached the agreed upon rendezvous point, a picnic table in the park across from the movie theater. Stan and Cartman were waiting. 

“About time you got here, dick,” Stan greeted.

“Stanley! Pleasant as always, I see.” Gregory’s well-mannered smile was grating. It was so masterfully polite, no one could tell it was anything less than sincere from simply looking at it, though they all knew it wasn’t. He offered a hand to his opponent. The boy in the red poofball hat stared down at it, looking slightly nauseated at the thought of shaking it. 

“Um, yeah, no.” Gregory shrugged and retracted his hand, smile never failing. 

“Alright then. Shall we begin?” Stan nodded, and gestured for Cartman to take it away. He did so with alacrity.

“ _Ahem_. The rules here, gentlemen, are simple. Gregory must eat every Taki in this bag without showing any signs of pain through noise, gestures, or facial expressions. He may drink from one tall, cool glass of water, which you will observe  _nyere_ _._ ” Cartman gestured to the tall, cool glass of water in the middle of the table next to the packet of Takis.

“Goddamnit Cartman, you don’t have to point out the water, we can all see it!”

“I’M SORRY STAN, are  _you_ the referee for this game!? Why,  _noo_ _!_  No, I don’t think you are. So if you’d kindly BUTT OUT, please and thank you.” Stan glared at him, but said nothing. Christophe raised his shovel. “Yes, vermin?” 

“I object on the grounds that you are not an impartial judge. This was already absurd before you decided to take charge.”

“Fine!” Stan snapped, “Christophe will be ref with Cartman, now let’s get going!” 

“You scoundrel,” Gregory muttered in an accusatory manner. “You’re more eager for a chance to sabotage me than the opposition, aren’t you?!” The Mole grinned shrewdly and swiped at a smudge of dirt on his cheek. 

“Sabotage? Moi?”

“Ouais, toi,” the Englishman retorted. He took a seat, opened the bag, and took out his first Taki, holding it delicately between a forefinger and thumb to avoid getting unnecessary chip-dust on his hands. It was a fruitless endeavor, as his fingers would surely be coated in layers of processed red seasoning by the end of this regardless. Stan took out his phone and started filming. Gregory looked at Christophe and lifted the Taki with a wry smile in a silent toast.

“Bonne chance mon ami,” The Mole taunted.

Gregory ate the first Taki.

By the third, he was starting to see why these chips were renowned for being spicy. 

By the fifth, consumption was veering away from intriguing and into unpleasant. 

By the tenth his mouth was burning. Every new chip he ate left spicy residue that lingered with the fowl persistence of un-brushed morning breath on his tongue. He slowed his pace, but got no relief. 

By the thirteenth he was wondering if he should dump the entire bag in his mouth and scarf it all down, risk of choking be damned, just to get it over with. Or maybe he should go as slowly as possible. The water was starting to look tempting. 

By the sixteenth Taki, Gregory wanted to cry. His face was beet in coloration, his eyes were tearing up, and that water looked so, so good, despite the fact that he knew very well it would only spread the spice instead of washing it away. He glanced at Christophe, hoping for encouragement when it mattered most. 

Christophe slid the water glass an inch closer. 

The  _bastard._

Gregory lasted one more chip before he took his first sip of water. Takis eighteen and nineteen were consumed in delicate bites between huge gulps of liquid, which provided momentarily relief in the brief second it hit his tongue. Stan and Cartman were snickering about how stupid he was to drink it, but at the time he didn’t care.

He cared by number twenty, when he was gasping chilly air to counter the intensified burning. There was still more than half the bag to eat. Gregory wanted to sob. 

“It’s hot, isn’t it dickhead?” Stan asked with a truly malicious grin. “I bet it’s even worse for you, since you’re so used to slurping down tasteless porridge and bland crumpets.” The blond could only suck in deep, pained breaths between his teeth, everything flushed and burning. 

“Let me see,” Christophe said, straddling the bench beside Gregory. 

“AAAKKK!” Cartman made a buzzer sound. “Penalty! The contestant must eat  _all_ of the Takis. You can’t try to make it easier for him by eating them yourself Mole.” Christophe glared at him.

“I  _know_ that, you heinous little—” He unleashed a torrent of French curse words that did nothing but confuse their opponents, but what little Gregory could pick up was absolutely  _filthy_. Then he shifted closer on the bench, grabbed Gregory’s jaw and forced him to look him in the eyes. “Like  _this_.” 

He sealed their lips together and slipped his tongue into Gregory’s mouth.

“AAAAAKKKKK!!! PENALTY, PENALTY, PENALTY FOR GROSS FAGGY GAYNESS—” 

“Shut  _up_  Cartman,” Stan said, sounding weary, defeated, and done with Eric’s bullshit. 

“GOD DAMN IT STAN I WILL NOT HAVE THEM FAGGING UP THIS EXTREMELY IMPORTANT TAKIS COMPETITION,  **YOU WILL RESPECT MY AUTHORIAH—** ” Christophe pulled away from the kiss but lingered in Gregory’s general proximity.

“They are hot,” he admitted. “But not as hot as you.” Cartman stood up and walked away to preserve his own sense of hetero-normality. As soon as Gregory recovered from both the kiss and that last comment, he made a small whimpering sound and lunged forward, seeking more kisses. He had no idea if it actually helped alleviate the combustion zone that was his mouth, or if it was purely psychological, but it felt good. 

It was possibly the messiest, clumsiest, most embarrassing kiss he would ever instigate. His primary objectives were swapping saliva and scraping his tongue against Christophe’s teeth. But he could make it up with proper kisses later, when he wasn’t so desperate, and his mouth didn’t feel like it was dying. 

Stan abruptly realized that he was still recording all of this with his phone, flushed, and stabbed the red square with his thumb several times to get it to STOP. He stood, backed away a few paces, opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and turned to go. Then he turned back around, hesitated, and cleared his throat. The couple broke apart with a visible trail of spit smeared across their chins and connecting their lips.

“Um. You lost,” Stan pointed out. 

“Did I?” Gregory considered this, tilting his head to the side as though it were a quandary worth pondering, not a basic fact. “Huh. Funny. It doesn’t feel like I did.” He gave Stan one last shit-eating grin, then went back to making out with his boyfriend. 

The boy in the red poofball hat made an aggravated noise and walked away, trying to figure out what the fuck he was supposed to do with this video on his phone. 

“You fool,” Cristophe muttered between kisses. “They are bigger fools, but you’re still a giant fool.” 

“Hmm? How so?”

“If you are going to pick up a destructive habit, choose something with some dignity, and dedicate yourself to it. Say, ‘This is how I choose to die, so one day I can go up there, kick God in the nuts, and laugh at him while he cries like a bitch at my feet.’” Gregory pulled back with a glower.

“Is that how you justify your smoking habit!?” 

“I don’t need to justify a damn thing to you.”

“Oh really?! Well guess what Mr. Tough Guy, I don’t have to justify my decision to stop kissing you for a yet-to-be-determined amount of time!!!” Christophe leaned an elbow on the table and flicked out a lighter and cigarette just to piss him off. 

“Are you sure about that, fifille?” At that point, whether Gregory was sure or not was irrelevant. Whether he was being belittled or complimented, insulted or charmed—half the time it was impossible to tell with Christophe. Whether more kisses were exchanged or not they would both be gone in a few hours, when the water glass was collected by an extremely vexed Super Best Friend.

Stan’s resulting minor gay freak-out went unknown to most, and the Takis were left for the rats.

**Author's Note:**

> Here, learn something: 
> 
> Fifille - "Little Girl," usually intended as a term of endearment, although in this case that's up for debate. 
> 
> Bien sur – Of course! 
> 
> Bete – Stupid/Moron 
> 
> Bonne chance mon ami – Good luck my friend


End file.
